Christmas At The Tudor Court: The Queen's Christmas Summons / The Warrior's Winter Bride. Amanda McCabe
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СКАЧАТЬ beard and sun-brown of his time at sea, like no one else she had ever seen in real life. He was like a hero or ancient warrior in a sonnet, all elegant, quiet strength. He spoke very well, too, his words polished and educated, his accent fine. She couldn’t help but wonder more about his past. Where had he really come from? What had driven him on to those ships? He held many, many secrets, she was sure of that.

      She knew she should be frightened of him. Certainly she should tell her father about him immediately. But something, some part of a fairy instinct her mother had claimed she lacked, told her that his secrets were not evil ones. He was a complicated man, yes, but not a wicked one.

      At least she hoped he was not, that her trust in him was not misplaced. And he had called her his angel, in a sweet, wondering tone she had never heard before. She liked him thinking of her in that way. The memory of it made her laugh and then blush when she thought of how warm and smooth his bare skin was when she touched it. Aye, she was in danger of being overtaken by her emotions, for the first time in her life, and she could not let that happen. She had to be very careful, indeed, and find out for sure what Juan’s true purpose was there. She prayed with all her might it was a good one. It looked as if her whole future depended on it.

      * * *

      When Alys was gone, the small room, which had felt so warm and welcoming while she was there, seemed to close around him. Yet he dared not go outside, not until he was strong enough to face any foe again.

      John opened the door a crack and stared out into the night, and somehow its starlit beauty, its silence, made him recall too sharply the scenes of the past weeks. The bloody battles, the freezing, starving days on the ships, watching poor Peter—and so many other men—die. If not for Alys, he would be among them. He would be mouldering in a hastily dug grave on the beach and his quest to restore the Huntley name would be at a terrible end.

      Aye, he owed her so very much. She declared she was not an angel, but he knew differently. When he had opened his eyes to see her face, to look into her dark eyes and hear her low, sweet, reassuring voice, it was like being raised into the bright light once more. He had a new chance at life, if he could make it safely to court, and he owed it all to her.

      He thought of the way she took such care of his wounds, her cool, calm demeanour, her gentle smile. She had saved a man, a stranger, and taken care of him with no sign of fear. Such remarkable courage and kindness, such as he had never seen before in either woman or man. Aye, of course she was an angel.

      He thought of foolish Peter and the letters he had written so fervently, even in his final days. John wondered if it was a woman Peter wrote to, a woman who had stolen his heart, who shared the cause that made a martyr of him. It would explain his worshipful expression, his adamant insistence that he would see the person he wrote to once more.

      Aye—perhaps a woman had once helped Peter, as Alys had helped him. The thought gave him pause. He knew he could not lose his heart so fervently, or at all. His work was still incomplete. But he did want Alys to know how she had helped him. How she had changed him.

      He reached for a small block of wood from the stack of fuel for the fireplace, and studied its angles and shape carefully. He had once spent long hours waiting for battle, or aboard ship, in carving, he was sure he could remember how to do it now. This piece of wood would work, and it would definitely help pass the time as he recovered his full strength and plotted his return to court.

      It would also remind him of Alys in the long, quiet hours until then.

       Chapter Seven

      Alys made her way along the path to the abbey the next morning, carrying a large hamper of fresh supplies. No one had noticed her slipping out of the castle not long after first light. Bingham’s men had all marched off to find more shipwrecked sailors further down the coast and all seemed quiet again. But Dunboyton was not yet quite back to normal. Everyone was still too unsettled, too excited by the violent interruption to their daily routines. The maids still cried into their aprons, the pages still carried around kitchen knives ‘just in case’ and everyone jumped at the merest loud noise.

      The maids would no doubt be relieved not to have their lady watching them as they whispered together over their kettles and dusting cloths instead of working. And she had not seen her father all night or morning, he was shut up in his library with his steward and the captain of his guards. There was no one to see her pack up wine and food, gather up bandages and herbs from the stillroom. At least she truly hoped no one had.

      Alys glanced over her shoulder and saw nothing but the sweep of the empty meadows down to the cliffs and the sea beyond. The great gale that wrecked the ships had blown away, but there was still a chill to the wind and there were no fishing boats putting out to sea. Most of the villagers, along with Dunboyton’s household, stayed behind their locked doors for the time being.

      She hoisted her basket higher in her arms and turned towards the path to the abbey. Once again, like old friends, the spires against the grey sky greeted her. A warm sense of anticipation rose up in her at the sight. She looked forward to seeing Juan, to checking that her nursing skills were working, to see if she could coax more stories from him. He owed her a few more tales; after all, that was their bargain.

      And, if she was honest, it was not just the prospect of nursing that made her steps grow quicker as she reached the edge of the crumbling cloister wall. She looked forward to seeing him again, to hearing the secret smile in his voice as he talked to her, the way his green eyes glowed.

      Life at Dunboyton was not a bad existence, but Alys admitted it was a quiet one. The same people, the same tasks, every day. Juan was like no one else she had ever met. He was a complete puzzle, one she wanted to fit together so very much. She wanted to know more about his Spanish mother, whether she had told him tales of her homeland as Alys’s had to her. The feeling of belonging to two different worlds was one they shared. Alys could not see things as everyone else did, as English and Spanish and thus different, for she knew they were not. Did Juan feel the same?

      And, if she was being doubly honest with herself, she had to admit that she was deeply attracted to her shipwrecked sailor. The thought of giggling over something so frivolous in the midst of such a terrible time made her chide herself, laugh at herself for her silliness. Who would have thought dull, practical Alys could sigh so over a pair of lovely green eyes.

      She hurried through the open, sky-lit sanctuary and found the dairy. She was almost afraid he would have gone, but then she saw the silvery smoke snaking from the chimney. She knocked carefully at the door, and called out, ‘’Tis Lady Alys.’ As much as she wanted to see him, she wanted no repeat of yesterday’s rough greeting when she surprised him.

      The door cracked open and he stood before her. He smiled, making his eyes crinkle most invitingly, and held out his hand. She could tell with a glance that he looked better, his skin not so pale and his figure standing straighter, taller. ‘Lady Alys. I was afraid you might not come today. I have been watching for you.’

      He had been watching for her? Did he...want to see her, as she wanted to see him? She felt her cheeks turn warm at the thought and she set quickly about her tasks to hide her confusion. ‘I had to make sure breakfast was prepared for the household. They are so disordered, nothing seems to be getting done at all. I am sorry, you must be hungry.’

      ‘You did promise me a pie,’ he said teasingly. ‘I have been trying to come up with a story fine enough to deserve it.’

      Alys brushed by him to the fireplace and he followed her. She was achingly aware of the heat of him, his tall strength right behind her. Pretending СКАЧАТЬ